The sun is rising behind the mountains east of Bouse. The last of my coffee steams in my cup as I sort the words in my head.
Yesterday in the quiet of a desert afternoon we enjoyed the company of our good friends Mark and Bobbie. They are traveling through to link up with others of their wide circle in the Arizona desert.
Last evening we enjoyed a meal and laughter with Jerry and other friends in his camp a short ways away.
This morning I sip my coffee while my ipod sings the sound track of The Last of the Mohicans in my ears.
I see history, unstoppable, unfolding around me and I often feel like Hawkeye and Chingachgook must have felt as they saw the beauty of what they knew slipping away under the weight of a thoughtless civilization.
A conversation from that film sends echoes through my heart whenever I try to speak with people of our current times; and of our place in history.
Hawkeye was speaking to Cora as they lay hiding in the dark, pursued by French forces;
Chingachgook, he warned me about people like you
He said "Do not try to understand them".
Yes, and, "do not try to make them understand you. That is because they are a breed apart and make no sense".
It speaks more eloquently of the feelings of futility I get when I speak to many people about the treasure we had in this land. It lays out the total lack of understanding I see in their eyes and hear in their words when we speak of what should, or must, or can not be done.
There is no communication between us for; "They are a breed apart and make no sense."
It lays a heavy weight on my heart. I see what is, and what will be, and I stand impotent to turn it.
I hear people say; "It makes no matter. We must do something. Even if it is wrong. Even if common sense says it will fail. Even if our actions exacerbate what's been done to us. We must do something! We must act."
What is the value of life if every limb has been cut away? If your eyes have been removed? If your ears are deafened to the music of the wind? If your heart has been cut out and can no longer feel?
What value remains in life if you are insulated from all sensation of sorrow, and love; anger and compassion, melancholy and laughter by a grey blanket of imagined security?
If you eliminate all that was of worth, all that stimulated your senses and intellect... only for the sake of imagined security... of what value is the remaining mere existence?
For me; "There comes a point when doing what is necessary to survive... You render survival worthless."
I fail to remember who spoke those words originally. They are what drives me forward. I can only say that when I am confronted by that situation... I will simply cease to survive. I will not fearfully seek existence for survival's sake.
... It MUST retain Value or it has no purpose.